Steps Away
by IseultLaBelle
Summary: Post Divine Justice/Hope Is A Powerful Drug. Ange receives a late-night text from an emotional Chloe. Chloe worries about upsetting her mum. Contains references to rape, post-rape trauma syndrome and allusions to self harm. Hopefully with some lighter mother/daughter cute moments too.


**PLEASE READ FIRST FOR TRIGGER WARNINGS**

**I am really, really nervous about posting this one, because I'm scared you're all going to think it's crude and hate me forever. **

**This is another post-Divine Justice oneshot inspired by Cormac McCarthy's use of dialogue and mystery/lack of explanation of detail in _The Road._ (Which is the most beautiful book, there is also a film adaptation that will make you SOB.) It's intended to be an exploration of the aftermath of rape, and the situation Ange and Chloe find themselves in as a mother and daughter with this terrible shared trauma. And the added complication that comes from Chloe, conceived through her mother's rape, now understanding exactly what Ange went through. **

**All Chloe's symptoms and Ange's 'pro tips' are taken from Rape Crisis Scotland, an Australian organisation called SA Health Southern Australia and my local SARC website, in order to make this story as realistic and respectful as possible. I debated how to write this story for a long time, and I've gone for the style of continuous dialogue and allusion rather than explicit statements used in The Road partly because I want you as the reader to feel like an intruder on Chloe and Ange's conversation, and partly because it avoids being direct about the trauma element- I was really worried if I tried to write it matter-of-factly it would come across too vulgar and uncomfortable to read. So there are lots of moments where what Ange and Chloe are actually referring to is left unsaid, and you can use your imagination or you can not. Hopefully it works. ****There's also some dark humour between Chloe and Ange as they try to cope with the shit situation they've found themselves in, and some actual, proper light humour. It's a bit like my Belarus oneshot, but there's much more alluding to the physical aftermath of sexual assault. If you think you're going to find any of this upsetting, please don't read it. **

**The political views expressed in this chapter are Ange's as I've written her, not the BBC's.**

**Wild at Heart and Monarch of the Glen are two of Dawn Steele's pre-Holby jobs. Light relief was needed. **

**Julie Fowlis is a Scottish folk singer, best known for voicing Merida in Disney Pixar's Brave. **

**If you've got to the end of this, thank you. And I really hope you don't hate this- but feel free to review and let me know either way! ****And a special thank you must also go to Elleigator, for persuading me to post this.**

**-IseultLaBelle x **

* * *

_When I sang my song, _

_I sang it through the world to you_

_And hoped that you would hear._

_When you sang along,_

_You felt within my words all that I longed for you to hear._

She's curled up under her duvet with a mug of tea and _Nicola Sturgeon: A Political Life_, thoroughly absorbed despite her fourteen-hour shift she's just completed, the fifth this week, and the digital display of her alarm clock informing her with its faint glow it's already technically the next day, when her phone vibrates softly against her bedside table.

_Chloe: __Are you awake? xxx_

She's starting the call before she's even finished reading the text, book discarded, panic rising within her as she waits for her daughter to pick up the phone, heart racing a little faster every time the line bleeps, still hasn't connected.

She knew. She knew it was far too soon for Chloe to be back at her own flat, back in work, she just knew…

Finally, the call connects.

"Mum? Did I wake you up?" Chloe whispers anxiously, and already Ange is analysing every last little aspect of her daughter's voice, paranoid, searching for all the tell-tale signs she's been crying. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

"What? No, no, you didn't, sweetheart, don't be silly. Just interrupted my chat with Nicola, that's all."

"Oh my god, Mum, how many times? You need to stop phoning her MP office every time Brexit pisses you off. You don't even live in her constituency, you don't even live in Scotland anymore. She must think you're a right nutter."

"Oi, none of that, please, I didn't call you so you could insult me," Ange teases, and she's trying so, so hard to keep her voice light, level, but deep down, she's panicking, knows full well that her daughter didn't text her because she just wanted a chat at half past midnight when she's in work at eight. "And no, I wasn't leaving Nicola another voicemail, as it happens. Although her PA did say in her last email she thought my idea to keep Scotland in the EU via a special status arrangement for the time being was definitely worth considering, just to buy some time to organise another indy ref, you know, so we don't have to apply for membership from scratch once we're free of the English bastards, and she's going to put it to the…"

"You do know her PA probably doesn't even show her your emails, don't you, Mum? She definitely had no clue who you were at the SNP conference last month, she was just being polite."

"That's where you're wrong, Chloe, she definitely recognised me. I mean, sure, so I don't think she knew what I was talking about when I tried to tell her I'm the one who writes to her from Holby, but she definitely remembered me from that time I met her outside Holyrood."

"That's because you were wearing your t shirt with that photo printed on it. You know, you with your arm around her and you're looking more proud and excited than you did at my graduation."

"Hey, I've never been more proud and excited ever than I was at your graduation. Ever. You're my little egghead, aren't you? Hey? I mean, I might have a tiny bit of a crush on Nicola, but you make me prouder every single day than anyone else ever could. But I really wasn't leaving Nicola another voicemail, I'll have you know. I'm reading that book you got me about her career. See, I don't know why you're complaining, it's not like you don't encourage me."

"Well, you know. You're seriously embarrassing, but you're my mum, and I love you. And… well." Her daughter trails off, and Ange can imagine her now, fidgeting awkwardly, the way she always does when she's subdued, troubled, can't quite find the words to communicate what she wants to say. "I owe you, for the last couple of weeks. Big time. Honestly, Mum. Thank you. I… I really don't know how I would have got through it all without you."

"Oh, so is that what the book was about? And the bath bombs? And the chocolates? And is that why you've been making me breakfast all week?" Ange realises, heart sinking, because she hadn't questioned it, at the time, had just thought it was sweet, wondered what she'd done to ever deserve her wonderful, caring daughter, but now she's cursing herself for not seeing it before. "You don't have to thank me, sweetheart. Okay? You're my baby girl. I'd do anything for you. I mean it. You've got nothing you need to thank me for, or make up to me, or whatever you think. I don't care how old you get, you come first. I'm always here. I'm always going to drop everything when you need me."

"I'm twenty-nine, Mum…"

"So? Why does that make a difference? I didn't just sign up to be your mum for the first eighteen years, did I? You're a lifelong commitment, sweetheart. You're stuck with me."

"You make me sound like a puppy, or something."

"Nah, you were much cuter than a puppy. Whole different level of demanding, but definitely cuter."

"I was blue-tinged and my head was so squashed I looked like a malnourished hippo."

"Exactly, you were gorgeous. I used to dress you up and take a million photos of you to send off to those local competition things you used to get in the nineties, I was always so offended when I never heard anything back. You were beautiful."

"I so wasn't, I've seen the photos. I've seen that god-awful one you've got on your bedside table, for a start, please tell me Fletch hasn't seen that. You were blinded by Darwinism, Mum, I was literally the ugliest newborn in the history of newborns."

"Don't be so silly." Ange glances across at the photo frame fondly, takes in Chloe's tiny, crumpled features, wisps of strawberry blonde hair, perfect, dainty fingers wrapped around her own, pink baby blanket the SARC gave her, wonders where the time went, when her little girl got so grown up. And yes, Chloe is so tiny and fragile and premature in that captured moment, grainy nineties disposable camera shot, that she's right, she looks blue, and yes, her face still has that slightly squashed newborn look, swollen and far too thin and frail all at once but she's just so _perfect_. "I look horrendous in that photo, I wouldn't have it on display if it wasn't such an adorable one of you. You were beautiful. You _are_beautiful. I used to look at you and wonder how you could be so perfect when you came from me. I still do, to be honest."

"Do I look like him?" Chloe asks quietly, and it's Evan, Ange curses furiously, blood running cold at her daughter's words.

It's all Evan's fault. Chloe's never asked about her… the other half of her DNA, Ange can't bring herself to use the proper word for him and his relation to her little girl, never asked anything more since that awful, painful conversation when she was just fourteen years old Ange has regretted more than anything else in the world ever since.

It's because of Evan, she's sure it is, and she hates him all the more for it. Evan hasn't just put her daughter through hell, hurt her in the worst way possible, but he's done it knowing exactly what it could do to her on a deeper level, knowing where she came from- because Chloe must have told him, surely? She seems to have confided in him about everything else, she must have done. He knows how Chloe reacts, Ange realises with a sickening feeling, nausea rising up within her because it hasn't occurred to her before now, why hasn't it occurred to her?

He didn't rape Chloe just for the hell that act itself would put her through. Ange is sure he didn't.

He did it because he knew what it would do to her, realising what she, her mother, went through to have her, knew it would bring up painful questions for Chloe about the man who acted as sperm donor in her conception, knew the after-effects would be far, far further reaching than just the rape he committed.

He did it to render her beautiful, perfect daughter a total, emotional wreck, traumatised, unstable, caught in the grips of all the mental health issues she's struggled with for the last fifteen years and those that seem to be developing now on top of everything else, new, tiny warning signs, barely there just yet and probably not visible to anyone else who doesn't know Chloe as well as she does, but Ange can see them.

She tells herself it's early days, that she's going to watch Chloe like a mother lioness protecting her cub for the next few months and at the slightest sign of Chloe's mental state escalating she'll be onto it straight away, scoop her up and carry her off to a psych consultation if she has to (and she probably could, quite literally, because Chloe was barely eating enough to adequately feed a small robin during those two weeks she was staying with her, despite Ange's best efforts, so much so that unbeknownst to her daughter, she's had Nicky and Cam under strict instructions to keep an eye on her food intake ever since she went back to her own flat.) Because Evan didn't rape her daughter just because he could. She can see that now.

He did it because he wanted to break her.

Ange won't let him.

"No. No, you don't. You look nothing like him, sweetheart," Ange lies, resists the temptation to jump out of bed, grab her car keys and drive over to Chloe's flat before her daughter even realises what she's doing, before she can protest, because all she wants is to hold her in her arms and hug her tightly, as though she's a tiny baby again and just being her mum is enough to fix everything, take away all the pain. "Nothing at all. Your face is too kind."

That last part isn't a lie, at least.

"That's the weirdest thing you've ever said to me."

"It's not weird. I wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true."

"I think that's the Darwinism in action again, Mum. You're biologically programmed to overlook my hamster cheeks and…"

"You haven't got hamster cheeks, sweetheart, don't be so silly."

"See, there you go again. Darwinism. It's instinct, you're wired up to think I'm cute so you don't abandon me in a ditch or something, and you ensure the survival of humanity by getting me to adulthood. It's like The Walking Dead. On the surface, we forget we're really just intelligent but completely savage mammals, but as soon as you strip away modern society, the façade totally slips and you realise we're all still governed by evolution after all."

"Oh, you haven't been watching The Walking Dead, have you? Chloe! When I gave you my Netflix password I had visions of you curling up in bed with a cup of tea and, I don't know, Derry Girls, or something. That's meant to be light relief, isn't it? Or, you know, some proper TV, Monarch of the Glen, or something? They don't make Scottish television like that anymore. Or what was that one you were obsessed with when you were at medical school, the one with the vets on the game reserve in South Africa and the nice Scottish lady? That was always fairly harmless."

"Did you seriously just reduce Wild at Heart to 'the vets on the game reserve in South Africa and the nice Scottish lady?'"

"That's the one, Wild at Heart. You used to love that. Or it doesn't have to be that. Just, you know. Anything that isn't people getting their organs ripped out by zombie creatures that defy the laws of anatomy and blowing each other's brains out on the side. Especially after what you've been through, sweetheart."

"Oh, I've been skipping some of the serious horror parts. You know I don't like horror genre."

"You bet I know, I haven't forgotten your face when I picked you up from Halloween Fright Night at M and Ds when you were about fifteen. That's why I'm a little… surprised that with the whole of your mum's Netflix account at your disposal, you've opted for The Walking Dead. You do realise if there's seriously nothing on Netflix that appeals to you, there's always Scottish iPlayer?"

"We've been here before, Mum. The TV shows with Scottish characters aren't the only ones worth watching. Anyway, like I said, I'm skipping the scary bits with the zombies attacking the survivors. I'm not interested in the horror stuff. I just… I don't know. The idea of life going on, even in the face of a zombie apocalypse and the collapse of society is strangely appealing at the moment, I guess."

"Oh, Chloe. Okay. Okay, I suppose I can see where you're coming from." She'd been about to tell her daughter that she'll give herself nightmares when the irony of that statement dawns upon her. "Just… maybe try and throw something a bit lighter in there too, okay? Before you lose all faith in humanity. Did you give those books I gave you a go? You know, the beach reads. Rather than the post-apocalyptic horror series."

Chloe gasps a little- involuntarily, Ange reasons, as though she's on the verge of another panic attack and desperately trying to keep her breathing under control. "_Girl Meets Boy_really wasn't doing it for me, but I have remembered how much I love _Sunset Song_, so there's that. And I'm really enjoying _Twas The Nightshift Before Christmas_."

"Trust you to find the medical memoir first. I don't think you know the meaning of switching off, do you? Are you alright, sweetheart? Honestly?"

"Is it supposed to still hurt?" Chloe asks pleadingly, voice so faint it's practically a whisper. "Mum?"

"Oh, sweetheart," Ange sighs. "It gets easier. I promise. You're still in shock, Chloe, it's not going to feel like this forever. It won't… it's not going to get better overnight, but once you've started processing it a bit, it's not going to feel as overwhelming all the time. I still think the counselling the SARC offered you would be a really good idea. I wish I'd started that sooner when… you know. When it happened to me. But it will get better. It'll never go away completely, it'll always be there. But it will fade. It's barely there for me, nowadays. It happened, yes, but it's not dominant, it's just kind of there in the background sometimes, you know? I hardly think about it anymore. I'm not just telling you that to get you through this part, Chloe, I really do mean it. It's always there, I think it always will be. But I don't really think about it now. It's not at the forefront of my mind."

"Not even when you look at me?"

"Never when I look at you, Chloe. Never. Not once. I mean… now, a little. After everything that's happened. But only in the sense that I hate that it happened to you, too, I look at you and I just wish I could take it all away. Just because I love you, because I never wanted you to know how it feels to go through this. I'd go through it all again myself if it meant you wouldn't have to know how this feels, that's why I think about it a little when I look at you. Not like you mean. I never, ever want you to worry about that again, do you understand? All I see when I look at you is my lovely daughter. That's all I've ever seen. I've never felt anything but love for you. Well, and maybe a tiny bit of frustration when you'd leave your room in a total mess."

"I love you too, Mum," Chloe whispers shakily. "But, like… is it still supposed to hurt… I mean… physically?"

She sounds so horribly broken that Ange's heart just sinks, furious with herself for not noticing the pain in her daughter's voice before.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Sorry, sweetheart, I didn't realise that was what you meant. It… it will do, yes. It's not like normal injuries, it's going to be sore for a while. It's normal. It took…" Ange trails off, doubting herself all of a sudden, worried that she's about to say too much and tip her daughter over the edge into a state of total despair, but then it seems to be helping, she reminds herself.

Somehow, it seems to have helped Chloe over the last two weeks, those times when she's opened up a little about her own rape, given her the smallest of details, gentle, cautious, but enough to let her know that she's not alone, that the hell she's experiencing is completely normal, that it's going to get better.

"It took a good few weeks for me, before everything started to feel normal again," she admits gently. "This is why I worry about you being back in work so soon. I… I don't know how much of it is psychological pain, or because it's so difficult not to tense up all the time, but it's definitely a thing. I think I was limping everywhere with my legs half a mile apart and sitting down and getting up again like I had no core for about a month, it was worse than childbirth in that respect. Worse than the unassisted back to nature crap I did with you, never mind the nice, normal hospital delivery I did with Dom. I'm not joking, it really was. You need to be curled up in bed with ibuprofen gel and a microwavable heat pack, not at work."

"I'm doing that. Believe me, I'm doing that as soon as I'm in through the door from work. After I've showered and scrubbed half my skin off, anyway, then I'm straight under my duvet with the heat packs. I think our electric bill's going to be through the roof for this month, if I keep setting the microwave off every hour on the hour. Well, me and Nicky. Nicky's been an actual angel, I don't even have to ask her half the time, when she's in. Cam's a bit… well, you know. Male and embarrassed about the whole thing, it's like them knowing it's your time of the month, isn't it? They just get really awkward about it and run a mile when they see you with a pack of feminax. He's like that. Keeps offering me food and ice cream I don't want like some walking cliché, but gets all shy and awkward about offering to help when he sees me shuffling to the kitchen with the heat packs. But I'm fine to be in work, Mum. I'm fine. I'm not on the theatre schedule yet," Chloe protests quietly, but even she doesn't sound convinced. "Not for the rest of the week, at least, Madani's reviewing it on a week by week basis. And it's a phased return. It's not that bad."

"I know, but you're prepping patients for theatre, aren't you? You're still on your feet all day, it's still physically demanding. That won't be helping. No one's going to think any less of you if you phone in sick tomorrow, sweetheart, you sound like you're in pain," Ange worries. "Or you decide you need a bit longer, you want to go back onto sick leave, Madani will understand that too. It's an option, Chloe…"

"I need to be working. I need the distraction."

Ange sighs. "Okay. Do you want me to talk to Madani and Jac, then? I'm sure they could put you on admin, or something, the state of Jac Naylor's paperwork is legendary up on Keller. They can sit you in Jac's office, you won't be bothered by patients, you can make sure you're taking your painkillers when you should be, you can keep having regular breaks to use the staff room microwave if the heat pack trick is the only thing taking the edge off the pain at the moment."

"Sitting's often worse, to be honest. Like… it's like a burning sensation after a while. Sorry. Sorry, I know that's far too much information, that's seriously gross, isn't it? And anyway, I don't want my bosses thinking I need my mum to sort my life out at twenty-nine. They probably think I need to grow up as it is."

"No, they don't, sweetheart. Of course they don't. You've been through something awful, Chloe, you're perfectly entitled to be feeling a bit delicate at the moment. No one's going to think any less of you. But if you don't want me to say anything, I won't, okay? That's fine. It's your decision." All the same, Ange makes a mental note to check in with Madani tomorrow, see if she can quietly drop into the conversation that Chloe is still in more pain than she's willing to let on.

There's silence on the other end of the phone for a few moments; silence, save for Chloe's slightly shaky breathing.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Ange asks gently. "Chloe, sweetheart?"

"I…" Chloe stammers quietly. "I don't want to upset you."

"You won't, my sweet girl. You won't upset me, I promise. It was a long time ago, Chloe, when it happened to me. You're not going to upset me, or bring back bad memories, or whatever you're worried about. Okay? I can handle it."

"You don't know that…"

"Yes. Yes, I do, Chloe, and do you know why? I know because there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. I'm your mum, and I love you. More than you'll ever know. That basically makes me superwoman when it comes to you, there's nothing I can't do to protect you. Okay? You're not going to upset me. And even if you do, it'll only be a little. And I'll be much more upset knowing you're struggling on your own, alright? You can tell me, Chloe. Whatever it is, you can tell me. Or would you rather talk to someone at the SARC? I can come over and get you, I can drive you over there if you need to talk to…"

"It's the middle of the night, Mum. I shouldn't even have texted you, I should let you sleep…"

"Don't be so silly. I'm glad you texted. They're open twenty-hour seven, I checked with Sheena before we left. If you'd rather talk to someone else…"

"I'm not moving out of bed until I need more ibuprofen gel or my heat packs go lukewarm. Whichever comes first."

"Fair enough. I don't think I got out of bed for the first two weeks- after I finally went home, anyway."

"You didn't go home?"

"No, I didn't go home for a few days. That wasn't totally unusual, to be honest, I was a right pain in the arse when I was sixteen, I used to stay out all night and crash on someone's sofa the next day at the best of times. I spent the first couple of days wandering around in a weird kind of trance with this group of stoner guys I'd fallen in with, I don't think I slept. And then I went to the SARC in town two days after it happened, they let me stay in there overnight and then they persuaded me to go home the next day. I told your nana I was ill and I just slept for two weeks, more or less. She thought I had the flu."

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, what are you apologising for?"

"I'm sorry it happened to you, too. I'm sorry you had to go through this…"

"I know. I know you are, Chloe, and that's one of the many, many things I love about you. How completely selfless you are. But you don't have to be sorry, my darling girl. It's… it's a bit different for me. I had you, didn't I, having you helped me heal, really. Yes, it was awful, when it happened. But it doesn't feel like that forever, it won't always feel so raw. And I wouldn't change it. It's different for me. I wouldn't ever change it, because if I hadn't gone through that, I wouldn't have you. And I wouldn't ever be without you, Chloe. Ever. I can't even imagine how different my life would have been without you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Hands down. It doesn't matter how you were conceived. It never will. All that matters, is that you're my beautiful baby girl, and I love you more than I ever, ever thought it was possible to love anyone before I had you. I have ever since I knew I was pregnant with you. I didn't need to see you to know that, holding you for the first time just confirmed it. But I already knew. I love you so, so much sweetheart. And I'd do anything to make it all better for you, my lovely. Anything. So, are you going to tell me what's wrong? Chloe?"

Chloe snuffles softly, and Ange can't work out if it's the soft sound she's been making as she falls asleep ever since she was a baby, or if she's on the brink of another sobbing meltdown, if she should be hanging up and bombarding Nicky with calls until she picks up, get her to go into Chloe's room and sit with her through the panic attack that might well be coming and grab her car keys, head out into the dark in her pyjamas because she'd move heaven and earth for her little girl, what's driving across town at close to one in the morning to give her a hug if she needs one?

"Chloe?" Ange soothes. "Come on, Chloe, you'll feel better if you tell me, sweetheart. Are you in pain? Is that it? Is it more than just the abdominal and the back pain?"

"It's just getting worse, Mum," Chloe sobs faintly. "It's not getting any better, it feels like it's just getting worse. Every time I have to use the bathroom it's fucking agony. I mean, it's agony all the time, to be honest. But still. That's the worst."

Ange thinks her heart might just break.

"I know, sweetheart. I know. It's shit, isn't it? Are you still doing the ice pack thing?"

"Yep. It's actual bliss, it's the only thing that takes the edge off. Seriously gross, and I don't even want to know how you discovered it, but it works. Actual, total bliss."

"You have Chloe to thank for that, I'm not a savage. You know, the lady at the SARC I named you after. She told me about it, after it happened to me. I thought she was mental at first, but I could have kissed her in the end."

"You named me after the woman who told you to shove an ice pack down your…"

"Hey, it works, doesn't it? You just said it works! Although, yes. Next time someone asks you where I got your name from, it might be better not to share that particular story. Stick to the others I've told you about her, yeah? Unless it's someone who gets it, anyway. Then share away, they'll know I named you after an amazing woman. So it's still awful, then?"

"It's agony. Actual, fucking agony. I can't win. If I avoid fluids it makes the headaches worse, and if I opt for all the fluids the headaches aren't so bad, but then I have to go more and that hurts like hell."

"Yep, don't do that. Please don't do that, Chloe, you need fluids. Dehydration's just going to make you feel even worse. It'll pass."

"It's been two weeks, Mum," Chloe protests weakly. "I don't know how much more of this I can take…"

"I know. I know, sweetheart, but it will get better. I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but it will. I promise. You'll see. You've been through an awful trauma, Chloe, it's going to take a little while for everything to settle down. But you'll get there. I promise you, it won't be like this forever. Are you alright for ice packs?"

"I'm running out. Had to start rationing them a bit. I mean, I thought about asking Nicky, she's been a total godsend, since I've been back here. But… I don't know. She's amazing. But I'm too embarrassed to tell her what I'm using them for, and I know she'll ask. She'll be confused about why she's sticking heat packs in the microwave for me every hour or so and I'm working my way through an industrial supply of instant ice packs at the same time. And I can't use the reuseable ones, can I, that's disgusting… oh my god, Mum, no, don't tell me you used the reusable ones."

"Well, you didn't get the disposable ones in 1989. Not outside hospitals, anyway. I chucked them out and bought your nana new ones when I wasn't in so much pain I needed it anymore, obviously…"

"When was that?"

"Honestly? I don't remember, sweetheart. Sorry. A good few weeks. But it did get better. Okay? You just need to hang on in there. And try and relax. Sometimes I think it doesn't hurt so much as you're so tense you're making it worse for yourself, does that make sense? I remember feeling like that, anyway."

"I'm trying," Chloe protests weakly. "You're probably right, but I really am trying. I just… I don't know. I can't relax. I get what you're saying, but I _can't_. Cam tried running me a bath the other day- don't even ask how awkward that conversation was. He doesn't know what to do. I think he… I get it, it's a bit TMI when it's your flatmate, not your patient. And he's got some weird crush on me, according to Nicky- pre-all this with Evan, obviously. As in post-break up, pre… you know. This. I mean, it was sweet, in all fairness to him, even if he was bright red before he'd even finished suggesting it. He said I looked like I was in pain, at first, he wanted to take me into the ED so I had to tell him… you know. Clearly, he hasn't done an obs and gynae rotation yet, has he? Or remembered anything he learnt in med school, it was like he hadn't thought through… you know. The… mechanics. So that was awkward. I think he thought it was just the other injuries, I don't think it had even occurred to him that… you know. That. So I may have got a bit inpatient, I told him he'd be limping too if it felt like his balls had been attacked with a cheese grater. And that shut him up. I felt awful afterwards, I apologised, obviously, and that made it even more awkward, but at least it got the message across."

"Oh, I like that. I hate that you're having to go through it, obviously, but I like that description. That's the closest I've ever heard anyone get to summing it up in thirty years, that."

"We should write a book. Survivors' guide, you know? The exclusive club no one wants to join. Anyway. So when he'd finished staring at me like it had only just dawned on him I had female anatomy, he offered to run me a bath, and I totally underestimated how stiff I was after work. I couldn't get into the stupid thing, for a start, it's not relaxing when lowering yourself in is the most painful thing you've done all week, is it? So then I was just stressing about how I was going to get out before I'd even started. And… I don't know. Everything's a bit muffled in the bathroom, every time Cam or Nicky so much as moved in the living room or walked past the bathroom door or whatever, I was flinching, I thought… I don't know what I thought. I mean, I obviously didn't think it was him, did I, I'm not crazy. I know he's dead. But I still keep startling whenever anyone gets too close to the bathroom door, I… I don't know if it's all coming back, or something. I'd locked myself in the bathroom when he… I came out because I thought he was outside on the driveway, I don't know how he moved so fast, I unlocked the door and he just grabbed me and…"

"I remember," Ange tells her quietly. "I remember, sweetheart, you told me."

"It's so stupid. I know it's stupid. I think I spent the next fifteen minutes trying to decide if the pain from getting out again was going to be worse than jumping like a startled rabbit every time Nicky or Cam opened a door, or something. So yeah. Relaxing. I'm sure you're right, I'm sure it would help ease the pain a bit, but I can't relax, I can't…"

"I know. I know, Chloe, it's just going to take some time. You'll get there. It's not going to feel like this forever, it's going to keep getting better and then one day you'll just suddenly realise it isn't controlling you anymore. It's alright. You just have to keep telling yourself that you're safe now, okay? I know it's hard, I know it's not as simple as that. But he can't hurt you anymore. You need to just keep reminding yourself he can't hurt you anymore. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, and Nicky and Cam aren't going to let anything happen while you're there. You've got nothing to be frightened of, Chloe. Nothing. It's just going to take a while for you to believe that again, that's all."

She seems to just want reassurance tonight, Ange ponders absentmindedly. Not just tonight, even, it's been like this for a few days, now. Chloe just seems to want her to reassure her constantly, keep telling her that how she's feeling is normal, that it's not going to be like this forever.

Ange can't say she blames her.

She remembers feeling a little like that, after it happened to her, must have driven her own mum out of her mind with worry as she alternated between behaving like a delinquent one minute and clinging to her the next. And Chloe… Chloe isn't as tough as she is, never has been, certainly isn't going to become so now.

"Do you want to try and get some sleep, Chloe?" Ange tries gently. "What do you think? It's up to you, sweetheart, you tell me what you want to do. I'm not in work tomorrow, I don't mind staying up a bit longer."

"What time is it?" Chloe asks weakly.

"Nearly one."

Chloe groans loudly. "God, I've got to be up in five hours."

"Well, see how you feel in the morning. You don't have to be. If you wake up and you don't feel up to it, that's totally fine, you can phone in sick. Or I can phone in sick for you, if that's easier. Madani will understand. Are you sure you're okay? Are you still alright for painkillers? And the…"

"Fine for painkillers. I'm not taking the sleeping tablets, they make me feel… weird. Out of control. I'm not taking them."

"Chloe…"

"I mean it, Mum, I'm not taking them. I'm too scared I wouldn't wake up if someone… if something happened, I'm not taking them. And they're not going to do anything for the pain anyway, are they? I'll stick to the ibuprofen gel and the heat packs and your revolting ice pack witchcraft, thanks. Sorry, Chloe's revolting ice pack witchcraft. Got to give credit where it's due, right?"

"Alright. Alright, so I'll get you some more disposable ice packs tomorrow, then. Do you want a lift into work, if you go? You're probably still not feeling up to driving just yet, are you…"

"I can walk."

"Don't be so silly, no, you can't. You've just told me you're shuffling around the flat by the time you get home, you'll be too sore to move by the time you get into work if you walk. It's not happening, Chloe. You're just doing a half shift tomorrow, right?"

"Eight til one."

"Okay. So I'll pick you up at seven thirty, I'll drop you in work and then I'll go into town and I'll get you some more. Do you need anything else? Have you got sanitary…"

"I think I'm good."

"Okay. Okay, sweetheart, but if you think of anything, you just let me know. Maybe…" Ange sighs heavily, knows full well her daughter isn't going to like what she's about to say. "It's far from abnormal to still be in pain at this stage, but I'm a little concerned you've just told me you think it's getting worse. Maybe we need to get you checked over again and…"

"I'm not pregnant."

"No, I know you're not." It's not just the conversation they had in the SARC over the morning after pill; Ange has seen the contents of her bathroom bin, the multiple early detection pregnancy tests hidden beneath handfuls of loo roll. Chloe must have been doing one a day, before she moved back into her own flat, just to be absolutely certain. She's probably still doing one a day now, come to that. Ange makes a mental note to text Nicky and ask her; she's almost certain Nicky has been Chloe's undercover supplier in that department.

But even then, it's not just that, either, because Ange has seen Chloe's notes from her physical examination at the SARC, swiped them off the counter in the examination cubicle when Sheena had Chloe back in the side room to talk her through the post-SARC visit support options.

She can't be completely sure, of course. Chloe's an adult now, after all, has been for eleven years, and Ange wouldn't know what she weighs on a good day, pre-Evan, pre-everything with Dom being her birth brother- shit, is this partly her fault, too? Of course it is, it's all her fault… But all the same. Given Ange spends her days working with young adults not all that much younger than her own daughter, she has enough of an idea.

Enough of an idea to know that the weight the SARC emergency doctor has recorded on her daughter's notes is far lower than it should be, that there may well be no chance of an unwanted pregnancy whatsoever, even without the precautions taken, because she's too underweight.

Ange wouldn't be surprised if beneath all her panicking about emergency contraception and the daily pregnancy tests, Chloe knows full well there's no chance of her getting pregnant any time soon.

Her weight hasn't dropped overnight, after all, and Chloe isn't stupid, she'll have been keeping track.

This has been going on for months.

Evan has been manipulating her daughter for months and she was so preoccupied with Dominic she just let it happen, shit…

"I know you're not pregnant, sweetheart," Ange continues carefully. "I'm not thinking pregnancy. I'm thinking it might be worth getting yourself checked out in the ED, that's all. I'm not thinking obstetrics at all, it's alright. But it could be…" She trails off, shakes herself, knows it's ridiculous, needs to pull herself together, get her head around the fact that this has happened to her daughter now, the one thing she always dreaded, and no amount of breaking down herself is going to change it. "It could be an STI. Or a UTI, that's not uncommon after what you've been through, I think you need to make sure…"

"Did you let someone stick a swab up your cervix after it happened to you? Because I don't know about you, Mum, but I don't know how I could ever…"

"You know I didn't. You know I didn't go through with the STI screening, you probably wouldn't have been a preemie if I'd got my act together on that one. And you'd probably be a good few inches taller and less waif-like. So, you know. You can blame me for… well, you can blame me for a lot of things, can't you? Just as long as you thank me for you still being able to buy clothes in the kids' section at twenty-nine. Think of all the money I've saved you."

"God, we go in for the dark humour in this family, don't we? I do _not_buy clothes in the kids' section."

"You forget I've been doing your washing for two weeks."

"Oh, you mean? Oh, come on, Mum. They do them in all the smaller adult sizes, they're identical apart from the colours. And technically they're from the teen section. Why would I spend a fortune on the regular ones when I can get a two pack for the price of one from the teen section? It's a no brainer. It's the same with shoes, sometimes that kids section stuff is identical only half the price, so it's not really kids section stuff, is it? And coats. It saves me a fortune because I don't have to pay the VAT, and then I can justify a direct debit to the Dogs Trust. Everyone wins."

"There you go, then. I'll get onto the neonatologist who called me an irresponsible little shit at Glasgow Children's Hospital and tell her. Sure, I might have gone into premature labour and perhaps it affected your growth, but the rescue dogs have done alright out of it."

"Oh my god, did she actually say that?"

"What, irresponsible little shit? Oh, yes. See, it wasn't just me who thought you were gorgeous, you had the entire neonatal unit under your spell, too. So much so that they thought I was complete and utter scum when they found out I hadn't even had a scan with you. Protect Chloe at all costs, that was their mantra."

"That's awful."

"Well, I probably deserved it. They did have a point, I did pretty much everything wrong that it's possible to do wrong, when I was pregnant with you. I mean, I'm almost certain there was an element of teen mum snobbery, but it wasn't all totally unjustified."

"But you'd been…" Chloe trails off, shudders. "You'd been _raped_. It wasn't your fault, they shouldn't have blamed you for…"

"Well, as long as you forgive me, that's the most important thing. I'll take that."

"Of course I do. It's not like I remember, is it? You didn't do me any lasting damage."

"You might have been taller."

"I'm taller than you, I'm not complaining."

"True. True, that doesn't take much, though, does it? Anyway. The point is, we need to do something, don't we? We can't just leave you in pain."

"Urgh, do we have to talk about that again?"

"Yes, we do. You're far too good at changing the subject. I could take you down to the ED after your shift tomorrow? Or I could not, I don't have to come with you, if you think that would make it worse. We could… do you know Alicia Munroe? In the ED?"

"I don't think so."

"No, you might not have met her, I think she mostly does Paeds ED, nowadays. I've worked with her a few times now, she usually comes with me when I do the school outreach programme…"

"Is this going where I think it is?"

"It… it happened to her too, yes. She wouldn't mind me telling you that, she's quite open about it with the outreach programme."

"Are you?"

"No. No, I wouldn't do that to you, Chloe."

"It's not about me though. It's about you, it happened to you, if you want to talk about it…"

"Yes, it is. It's about you. I wouldn't ever want to put you in a position in which people started to wonder, sweetheart, I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't ever do that to you. The kids get the first-hand experience of being a teen mum stuff from me, they don't need first-hand sexual assault stuff, too. And Alicia does a brilliant job of that, anyway. You matter to me more than anything else, Chloe, okay? I promise. I know I told Dom, and Fletch, and I know I shouldn't have…"

"I don't mind that you told Fletch."

"No?"

"No. He's your boyfriend," reasons Chloe. "That's different. You can't keep secrets like that when you're in a relationship, it's… I don't know. I don't know why it's different, but it is. And you… you told him… after I told you, right? I totally get that. You needed support, Mum, I'd never want you to keep it a secret from Fletch."

"But you're still upset I told Dom?"

"A… a little. It's alright, Mum, it's forgiven. I wish you'd waited a bit to tell him, but I'm over it now. It's fine. He was going to have to know eventually, wasn't he?"

"I know. I know, but I'm still sorry."

"It's okay. Honestly, Mum, it's okay. It's forgotten. I trust him. I trust him and Fletch, I know they aren't going to tell the whole hospital."

"No. No, they won't sweetheart. I promise. They get it. And no one else is going to hear it from me. No one. I honestly can't tell you how sorry I am about how I…"

"It's okay. You don't have to keep apologising Mum, honestly. It's forgiven."

"Thank you. So how would you feel?" Ange asks cautiously. "If I talked to Alicia tomorrow, if I see if she'll have some free time after you finish your shift? That might… that might be better, maybe? She's been through it, she'd understand. You wouldn't have to explain, she'd be sensitive. And it might… I'm sure she'd be willing… it might be good for you to have someone to talk to about it all. Someone your own age."

"Yeah, because you're _so__old_compared to me, Mum."

"Yes, alright, miss sarcastic. You know what I mean. It was a long time for me, and it was a bit different, dealing with the aftermath. Well, it wasn't at the time, obviously, but I think it definitely affects how I view it now. I wouldn't change it."

"Mum…"

"I mean it, Chloe. I'm not just saying that for your benefit, sweetheart, it's true. Yes, it was awful, and I hope I never have to experience anything like that again. But I wouldn't change it. If you offered me the choice tomorrow, to go back and change it so it wouldn't have happened, I wouldn't even consider it. It gave me you. I'd never want it to not have happened because if it hadn't, I wouldn't have you, would I? I couldn't ever be without you, now. You're my best friend and my baby and my whole reason for everything all rolled into one, aren't you, I wouldn't trade you for anything."

"You could have had another baby, though. You could have had kids with… with someone who wasn't… kids who weren't…"

"Nope. They wouldn't have been you, would they? It's not just about me wanting kids, Chloe. It's about me wanting _you_. Another baby wouldn't have been you, why would I want another baby when I could have you?"

"Aww, I love you too, Mum."

"Love you more."

"Love _you _more."

"Nope, I love _you _more. So what do you reckon? Shall I see if Alicia's working tomorrow?"

"I'm going to have herpes, aren't I," Chloe sighs bitterly.

What can she say to that?

"We'll deal with it, Chloe. I promise. It might be nothing, it might just be it's going to take a while for everything to…"

"… Stop feeling like it's fucking on fire?"

"Yep. Yep, that. But if it is something, we'll deal with it. Okay? We'll deal with it, it might be a bit unpleasant for a while, but we'll get you through it. We will. You're going to be fine, sweetheart, you aren't going to be in this much pain forever. Whatever it is, we're going to deal with it. Everything's going to be fine. Alright? But I think the best thing we can do is get you checked over again. That's a good idea two weeks on anyway, to be honest."

"I can't…" Chloe whimpers. "I can't bear the thought of anyone touching me, I… You don't count, obviously. You and Nicky don't count, you're fine. I haven't decided if Cam and Dom count just yet. But I can't… I _can't_…"

"I know. I know, Chloe, that's perfectly normal. No one is going to hold that against you, okay? No one's going to make you do anything you don't want to do. I can come with you, or I can stay away, it's up to you. Everything's up to you. But I'd worry much less if we got you properly checked over again, just to be sure. And Alicia might be able to give you some pro-tips. Mine are all thirty years out of date."

"No, they aren't, Mum. Don't tell me you haven't been on google and talking to the whole of gynaecology. And Sheena behind my back. And anyone else you can…"

"Hey, I wouldn't do that. I mean, I have been on google. But I wouldn't talk about you like that without your permission. I promise I wouldn't."

"You can talk to Alicia," says Chloe quietly. "I don't mind if you talk to Alicia."

"And you'll let her check you over later, if she's in?"

"Umm hmm."

"Okay, sweetheart. Okay, you leave it with me. I'll send her a message in the morning. You sound like you're falling asleep."

Chloe moans sleepily on the other end of the phone. "Mum…"

"I know. I know, Chloe, I know. I know, sweetheart."

"Don't want to sleep," Chloe complains, and it's like going back in time some twenty-five years, Ange contemplates, like she's a small child again.

"What am I going to do with you, hey? You need to sleep. Especially if you're adamant you're going into work tomorrow, you need to get some rest, don't you? Come on, then, madam, tell me. Why don't you want to sleep? Weird dreams about Walking Dead zombies?"

"Walkers, Mum. They're called walkers. Zombies don't exist in the Walking Dead universe, that's why it takes them such a long time to realise they have to injure the brain to take them out. Except the military don't work that out fast enough, so everywhere gets totally overrun and civilisation as we know it just kind of gets eradicated."

"You're going to get into this like you used to be into Star Trek, aren't you?"

"Like I'm still into Star Trek, Mum. Star Trek is everything."

"Ah, my mistake. So you haven't been having nightmares about being ripped apart by walkers, then? Were you dreaming about…"

"No," says Chloe quietly. "No, not about him. Well, not… not me."

"Okay. Okay, do you want to talk about it? Chloe? You can tell me, sweetheart, it might help if you…"

"He was…" Chloe shudders, voice laced with exhaustion and distress. "He was… he was doing it to… to you… and I tried to stop him and I couldn't…"

"Hey, it's alright, sweetheart. It's alright. That's not going to happen, is it? He's gone, Chloe. He's gone, he can't hurt you anymore. He can't hurt me, he can't hurt anyone. Okay? You're safe now. We're both safe, you've got nothing to be afraid of. Everything's going to be fine."

"It could still happen again though," Chloe whispers. "It doesn't have to be him, anyone could…"

"I know. I know, but you can't live your whole life like that, sweetheart. I know it's hard. It's going to take time, but you'll get there. You'll feel safe again. No one is ever going to hurt you again like…"

"I'm not worried about it happening to me. I'm worried about it happening to you…"

"Oh, you're sweet, aren't you? You're so sweet."

"I'm not five."

"I don't care, you're my baby. And you are sweet. Most people after everything you've been through would be panicking about what if it happens to them again, not…"

"I just can't bear the thought of you having to go through that, Mum. And then you had to go through with having me…"

"Hey, we've just talked about this, haven't we? Remember? You aren't a part of that, Chloe. Never. You never have been, I've never, ever seen you as a part of that. You were innocent in all that, sweetheart, you were just a baby. It wasn't you, you did nothing wrong, did you? Nothing at all. DNA doesn't make a father. I'll always be grateful to… to him, in a weird sort of way, because he gave me you. You're the best gift anyone's ever given me, aren't you? I love you so, so much. So you mustn't ever think having you was a burden, do you promise? I wouldn't be without you for anything. Ever. Promise me."

"I promise."

"Good girl. Come on, you sound exhausted, you need to get some sleep. So shall I phone you at six? Yeah? Just to check you're awake? And then you can make a decision on work, can't you. But I'll come over and give you a lift in if you decide you're going."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, sweetheart. Come on, then. Sleep. Just please don't make me sing to you. Do you remember that?"

"Hmm?"

"You used to make me sing you to sleep when I first went to medical school. That was back in the days of one set of pay phones per halls of residence, we used to have to queue up to call home. So I'd phone you to say goodnight, or I'd phone your nana to see how you'd been that day and you'd still be awake, and then you'd make me sing over the phone to get you to sleep. In front of the whole queue."

"Oh my god, so I forced the whole corridor to endure your terrible singing?"

"Yep. Yep, pretty much. There you go, and I still came home every other weekend to be with you. And then Nana used to put you on the train in Aberdeen, when you were seven, and I used to come and get you at St Andrews Station, do you remember? Even after you made me sing in my awful Gallic in front of my entire halls of residence. If that isn't unconditional love, I don't know what is."

"And then I rewarded you for all your efforts by deciding Nana was my mum."

"Well, you were only little. You were what, three, when you decided I was your big sister? And Nana was probably about the same age as some of your friends' mums, and some of them had big sisters away at uni, didn't they? And everyone else at preschool must have lived with their mum, or almost everyone, anyway. It was a tiny middle class posh preschool in the historic part of Aberdeen, I always used to feel like such an imposter picking you up from there. I think you just worked out everyone else was calling the woman who looked after them most Mum and decided Nana and I were trying to confuse you. And… you know. I wasn't around so much that year, was I, I went gallivanting off to Slovenia to live out my doctors without borders dreams when I should have been spending my summer off with you."

"You were young, though. You were still young, I get it."

"You're very forgiving. Right, you need to sleep, sweetheart. Come on. So you aren't going to make me sing, right?"

"God, no. Why would I want you to sing Tha Mo Ghaol Air Àird a' Chuain when I could just put Julie Fowlis's new album on instead?"

"That's my girl. Speaking of which, do you fancy a trip to the Black Isle next month? I have it on good authority Julie Fowlis is playing at the folk festival."

"You know I do. If I can get the time off work."

"We'll tell Madani you've got a follow-up with the SARC, if you are, we can fly up to Edinburgh, do it in a day. It'll be fine, he won't suspect a thing."

"Mum, you're terrible."

"You've got to milk it, sweetheart. Milk the sympathy vote for all its worth, it's the only upside. Totally justified. And if all else fails, I'll tell him you're in love with the woman."

"What, like you're in love with Nicola Sturgeon?"

"Exactly. I'll look at flights tomorrow. Go on, then. Go to sleep. I love you."

"Love you too, Mum."

It's only after she's put the phone down that Ange allows herself to burst into tears.

_Because when the daylight passes hours,_

_And there's no light for you.  
_

_Remember,_

_I'm just over the hill, and there I'll stay._

_I'm just steps away. _

_And though you swim through lakes, and walk for miles,_

_I'm just lengths away from you._

_\- Ruth Notman, Over The Hill. _


End file.
